'Mother Goat' by Julia Ruth Smith

 

She’ll see a rare family of goats stuck to the mountainside like magnets. She’ll laugh out loud at how odd they seem, all shaggy white and long beards. Just a family hanging out in the shade. She’ll make a note to tell her son about them when she gets home.

 

She’ll stop at a petrol station to stretch her legs, the south wind as hot as suffocation. She’ll see a teenager smoking beside his father who is smoking, and she’ll reach for her phone.

 

‘Yeah, it’s hot here too Mum. The dog barks at night. He misses you.’

 

‘Do YOU miss me?’ She’ll hear a chair scraping in her living room.

 

She’ll tell him she’ll give him fifty kisses when she gets home. ‘Fifty euros, you mean.’ He’ll laugh.

 

The father will cuff the back of his son’s head in jest. He’ll point towards their van. He’ll stub out his cigarette and pull up ill-fitting jeans. The boy will do the same.

 

‘Mum, I have to go now? Dad and Linda are taking me out for pizza.’

 

She’ll drive further along the coast, see a goat all on her own, chewing dry grass, trying to swallow. Trying not to cry.